Indecent Proposal by Molly O'Keefe Page A

father’s mistakes. Making the Montgomery name something he could be proud of.
    What else was he supposed to do but exactly this?
    In the end, it didn’t matter how he got into office. All that mattered was that he got in.
    “We’re in this and we’re leading in the polls. If the matter is more money, we’ll get more money. As for the Ashley miracle, I’ll ask,” Harrison said, bowing under the pressure because they were right. He looked like a kid standing next to Glendale. “When I get her on the phone. I will ask.”
    “Well, will you look at that,” Wallace said, grinning at Mother. “Look what happens when we work together. We should channel our powers for good more often.”
    Mother did not smile. She picked up her purse from the couch and slipped the strap over her shoulder. If there was a prototype for politician’s wife, Mother was it. Elegant, genteel, and calm. Stylish. Never flashy. Confident and contained. She gave the impression of still, deep waters. And even in his shabby, cluttered, crowded office that was basically just a cement box, she exuded a sense of Old World money.
    There was a flash in his memory, the image of a woman in high leather boots and a thin tank top with a tattoo peeking over the edge.
    Despite his efforts, he’d been unable to forget that night in New York City.
    Raw. Rough. Unpolished.
    Ryan had been the opposite of Patty Montgomery on a cellular level.
    Perhaps that was why he’d been unable to stop thinking of her.
    With effort, he refrained from smiling. Stopped that one flash from turning into a lightning storm of memory.
    He stood and opened the door for his mother. Outside his office the campaign headquarters was crowded with staffers and interns, doing the hundreds of large and small tasks that made this campaign a real and tangible thing every day.
    Outside the wide plate-glass windows was Peachtree and the downtown city center, cloaked in a gray rain. Mom’s car and driver were outside waiting for her.
    Noelle, her assistant, waited outside the door like a loyal pet.
    “I’ve told your secretary to put a Friday luncheon on your schedule for the twenty-third,” Patty said to Harrison.
    “Fundraising?”
    “Family.”
    “Our family?” Family meals were not something that happened at the Governor’s Mansion. Not on Fridays. Not anytime.
    “It’s an article for Southern Living ,” Noelle supplied, glancing up from her iPad, where she seemed to have all her plans for world domination. “The Holiday edition.”
    Right. The only reason his family would sit down at a table together was if there was a chance someone wouldtake a picture. Mother was very good at making them look like a typical family, with family dinners and vacations to the shore and trips to amusement parks, when in reality they didn’t do any of those things without a camera crew making it happen.
    “Distance, Harrison,” Wallace said. “We don’t need pictures of you and your dad standing arm-in-arm over a turkey, for God’s sake.”
    “The magazine won’t come out until after the election,” Mother said. “And considering the way you’ve been tearing your father apart in speeches, a family photo shoot and article will go a long way toward showing there are no hard feelings.”
    She meant publically. Because personally, it was far more than hard feelings between him and Ted—there was a cavern of disappointment and anger. Of disgust.
    Some men were created in the image of their father. Harrison grew up in his father’s negative space. In the holes Ted had left behind. Harrison was who he was in spite of and to spite his father.
    But Ted had clout and loyal followers—an Old World liberal guard that didn’t like Harrison, and it would do his career good to get them on his side.
    Harrison glanced at Wallace, who after a moment shrugged.
    “What time do you need me?” Harrison asked.
    “All day. I’ve had your schedule cleared.” Mom glanced over her shoulder. “Goodbye,